


Before Her Mother's Grave

by alcimines



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcimines/pseuds/alcimines
Summary: Sometimes, even Ororo has to depend on friends.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Before Her Mother's Grave

**Author's Note:**

> This story is actually based on something I referenced in chapter 10 ("The Departed") of "Scenes from a Most Unusual Family". However, this isn't quite that story since it involves an additional character. I'm mentioning this just in case a reader with a good memory is thinking, "Hey, this sounds familiar..."

BEFORE HER MOTHER'S GRAVE

The royal graveyard was so old that it essentially defined 'traditional'. The graves were sparsely-grassed mounds ringed by carefully stacked river-cobbles. Some of the oldest graves were quite large and the names associated with them were of millennia-gone kings, queens, heroes, and mages.

They raised cattle in that part of Africa, so the graveyard was fenced. Cows were no respecters of human traditions - they just want to graze. And if allowed to roam free, their hooves would dig runnels into the mounds. After that, rain would erode those gaps into gullies. The fence itself was an eclectic mixture of styles. Nobody knew it but one oddly-carved stone corner-post was older than the Pyramids. Some of the more recent fence-lines would be quite recognizable to a rancher from Wyoming. The gate was made of hand-cut boards and mounted on thick iron hinges that dated from the 19th century.

There was a confrontation at the gate. Two women knelt formally on blankets, facing each other in the heat and the dust. About a dozen men were quietly standing behind the old woman who was blocking the gate. A respectful half-circle of a crowd watched from a distance.

Ororo looked at the elderly - and stubborn - traditionalist who was blocking her way into the cemetery. It was well within Ororo's power to storm right past the other woman. Even the men standing just before the gate, enforcing the older woman's words, would not be a real problem. But Ororo was well aware that she was playing by a different set of rules. Rules that didn't allow a princess to soil her hands with violence.

And besides, one of those buried in the graveyard was Ororo's mother. Ororo couldn't imagine insulting the ways of her people in front of her mother's grave.

"Get out of my way, Aza," Ororo said wearily.

Aza squinted back - her eyes were old and filmy - and replied, "This place is not for you, Ororo. Go home."

Aza spoke in a tongue that mixed Swahili and something much older. The number of people in the world who could understand her was not large.

The problem between Aza and Ororo was a matter of blood. Ororo Munroe's mother had married an outsider. Worse, she had married far below her station. It was all a part of being modern, and Aza despised the word 'modern' with the intensity of the desert sun. As far as Aza was concerned, a half-blooded woman - even though she was a princess - would not be allowed into a holy place that was sworn to elder gods, old blood, and ancient honor.

Unfortunately, Aza had more than enough authority to make her words stick.

As if on cue, a dust-filled whisper of wind swept over the two women. Ororo allowed that to happen, resisting the urge to use it to sweep Aza away.

"Aza, I will see my mother's grave," Ororo said softly. Those who knew here would have recognized the danger in her voice.

"No," Aza told Ororo.

Ororo closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them again, they were cloudy and dark-gray.

"By my blood, I claim the right to enter," Ororo told Aza.

"You do not yet have that right," Aza shot back.

They were wandering into ancient customs. Ancient laws. Ororo's lineage gave her privileges, but even she had to enforce them.

Aza lifted her withered arms in a gesture that encompassed the strong men who were at her back.

"Oh, princess, where are your champions?" Aja proclaimed mockingly. "Who will stand with you? Who will fight for your cause? Perhaps if you had stayed here, with your people, you would now have warriors by your side."

At that, Ororo smiled and waved one of her hands. The atmosphere flexed above her and temporarily lensed the sunlight. There was a yellow-white flash.

Behind Ororo, hidden by the watching crowd, a pair of car doors slammed shut. Two men - one tall and black and the other short and white - worked their way through the watching crowd. Eventually, they found places flanking Ororo.

"Aza, I have brought champions with me," Ororo told the older woman.

Aza considered that as she mentally ran through a litany of ancient customs and precedents that she had spent so much of her childhood memorizing.

"You have the right to bring foreign champions," Aza allowed grudgingly. It's quite possible for someone to be wrong, but honorably wrong.

"However, I do not know these men," Aza continued. There was a mild challenge in what she'd just said. Custom said that there should be introductions.

Ororo nodded her head towards one of her men.

"This is King T'Challa of Wakanda," Ororo said. "I am sure you have heard of him."

One of Aza's pure-white eyebrows rose. However, in an act of impressive self-control, she remained otherwise expressionless.

Then Ororo gestured to the other man.

"This is James Howlett - also named Logan - he is a warrior of considerable renown from the land of Canada."

"These men have said they would fight for me," Ororo finished.

The two men with Ororo were ignoring the byplay as they bleakly examined the dozen-or-so men who were with Aza. It occurred to Aza that the Ororo's champions didn't seem particularly worried about how out-numbered they were.

"What is their relationship to you?" Aza asked after a moment of silence.

"An ex-husband and an old boyfriend," Ororo replied.

* * *

The fight was over and the cemetery's gate gaped wide-open.

T'Challa, Logan, and the local men who were still conscious were sitting around a range-truck as they drank beer and talked quietly about wives and girlfriends and cattle and soccer. Off in the distance, Aza and Ororo were inside the graveyard, kneeling before one of the grave-mounds. They wore modest head-coverings as they prayed to a departed spirit.

On the western horizon, a thin line of dark clouds was piling up.

Logan sniffed the air. "Gonna be a long rain," he said thoughtfully. "Probably a couple of days worth."

"We need it," opined a herdsman with a black-eye and a split-lip. That was the nigh-eternal opinion of those who work the land.

"Rain heals," the eldest of Aza's champions added quietly. Dried blood covered most of the side of his face.

"Especially here," King T'Challa suggested as he contemplated the two women in the graveyard.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

* * *

The two women were done with their prayers. Aza was obviously having problems with rising. So Ororo carefully helped the older woman to her feet.

Ororo considered the dark clouds on the horizon. They were coming along nicely.

"I knew your mother," Aza told Ororo calmly. "N'Dare... she was... adventurous. And brave. Braver than I could ever be."

Ororo recognized that Aza's words were as far as the old woman could go.

Then Aza glanced through the gate, at the place where Ororo's champions sat with a group of battered-looking village men.

"You have good taste in men," Aza observed thoughtfully.

Ororo smiled, took Aza's arm in hers, and began helping her home.


End file.
